The Kingdoms of Andros
by shnazzy88
Summary: Andros is a scattered continent, with many factions who war for supremacy but none who can truly claim it. When letters from a strange and powerful queen are sent to various royal families and heads of state, it looks as though the course of history will change as the various kingdoms prepare for the first peace summit in centuries.
1. Chapter 1: The New King

Whoever had decided that funerals were somber events had never taken the time to inform the late Lord Egbert. Castle Harlequin had never been so loud. Minstrels danced under the great arched roofs of the Grand Hall and sang their songs. People drank and laughed and generally created an uproar of which John was sure his father would have been proud, had he been alive to witness it.

The grief John felt had eventually faded. He was instead filled with anxiety. As heir to the castle, he was expected to take the throne within a week. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't ready and didn't feel as though he would ever be ready. He sighed and stood up slowly, walking along the outskirts of the party. The entire castle, as well as the various outposts along the trails of the Windswept Peaks, relied on him.

Centuries earlier, a famous adventurer who called himself Colonel Sassacre staked a claim atop a stormy mountain, calling them the Windswept Peaks, and declaring he would make his home there. He started a family and built a sizable outpost; open to any willing to live there. The few who came were reckless, but strong and good people. Their outpost soon became a town and that town became Castle Harlequin, after the late Colonel's famous sense of humor.

Though much joking and japery occurred in the castle, devastating conditions surrounded it. The Windswept Peaks lived up to their name. Without the proper precaution, entire buildings had been completely destroyed and had to be rebuilt; even while the tempest continued to rage about them. Needless to say, it was not an easy task. The town had grown into a tightly knit community, forced to rely on one another in order to survive. If he were not careful, John knew that he would lead them to ruin.

He slowly looked around the room, his eyes flicking over faces he'd seen since childhood. Would he be able to lead them? He glanced at a banner hanging on the wall. It was bright blue and had his House's symbol, a gust of wind, emblazoned on it. John was only 22 years old, but he would be expected to be a figurehead. He didn't think he looked fit to be a king. He was tall and lanky, not to mention on the pale side. His attire seemed royal enough, with its ceremonial blue shades and long cape, as well as various embroiderments and tassels. But, he felt like a small child wearing his father's jacket. Which wasn't too far off from the truth.

As king, there were many obligations he had to live up to. He would have to delegate money and solve disputes in the town. But most troubling of all, if House Egbert were ever to go to war, he would have to lead them into battle. While he had been trained in the arts of Breath magic, as many members of the upper class had been, he had no experience with fighting. He had never so much as picked up the warhammer that had been his birthright. He couldn't stop thinking about the chances of his failure.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tavros, sitting in his chair as usual. After so many years, it was hard to imagine him without it. The 16-year-old boy, with his short brown hair had the potential to be quite attractive, but he didn't seem to care about such things. Instead, his hair normally resembled a bird's nest and he often looked as though he hadn't slept in days. He had said very little since the passing of the former king. John didn't blame him. The two of them had been quite close, and his passing had probably hit Tavros even harder than it had to himself.

Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder and he swiveled around. He stood face-to-face with a tan figure, wearing a large black cloak covering a similarly black outfit with various red tribal markings on it. If that weren't enough to make him stand out, the three red streaks in his hair certainly did. Despite his intimidating appearance, a warm smile spread across his face. "Hello, John. It's been a while."

John smiled as well. "It's good to see you, Rufioh. How have you been?" Rufioh had been the personal adviser of the king, but he rarely stayed in Castle Harlequin lately. Instead he chose to roam Andros and collect information, reporting back when he could. Whenever the King needed him though, he would be there within a day: no matter what the distance was.

Rufioh's wide grin faded away. "I was quite grieved to hear of your father's passing. He was like a brother to me. When he accepted Tavros and I into his home… Well, no one had ever shown us such kindness before. You probably don't remember that, you were young." In fact, John could remember the day perfectly. He had been six years old when he had first met Rufioh, 8 years old, bursting in, weeping, and holding his cousin's broken body in his arms.

The heir nodded solemnly and looked over towards the dejected boy. "He's taken it quite hard. He hasn't spoken to anyone in days." Tavros had a love for the late king that even John could not quite fathom. While most people looked down on him as a cripple, there were very few that saw him as a man. And there was only one person who saw him like a son. It made sense that he rarely left the castle. And when he did, he preferred to be alone, enjoying the company of his horse more than that of others who would constantly worry about him falling or hurting himself.

"He'll have to grow up soon. He is a member of the Royal Court after all, despite his condition and his arrival here." Rufioh sighed and John could see the stress and pain in his eyes. He had never had an easy life. Between keeping an eye on his cousin, his adoptive family, and the other kingdoms, he was on a one-man mission to keep tabs on everything that was occurring in the land. But no one could say for sure what Rufioh had seen out in the wilderness, where he often brushed it off for lighter topics. John silently mused that in this case, the rogue's unique condition proved to be more of a help than a hindrance.

"You seem nervous." Rufioh met John's eyes, searching for some kind of response. "You're worried about taking the throne, right?" John nodded ever so slightly, embarrassed of his response. Leaders didn't fear such things. He was surprised when Rufioh put his hand on John's shoulder and smiled softly. "If you weren't concerned, I would dread the day that you were given the crown. In any case, I would suggest that you make contact with Equius Zahhak. I spoke with him today and he requested an audience with you."

John was slightly taken aback by the news. House Zahhak was not known for being social in any manner. Whatever it was that Equius wanted, it had to be important. He hoped that he didn't look as worried as he felt. "Did he say what this is about? It would be nice to have some sort of idea of what to prepare for before making my way down to the Caves."

Rufioh grinned and said "I don't recall Zahhak being the talkative type." The two of them laughed, remembering days that they had spent with Equius, many years ago. It was nice to remember days when they didn't have to carry the world on their shoulders.

After a few moments, John stopped laughing and started to think. "Perhaps Equius could teach me a bit about being a king." The rogue opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a sudden impact against his left leg which was accompanied by a loud yell of "UNCLE RUFIOH!" John looked down to see a young girl with a mess of blonde hair.

Rufioh chuckled and hugged the little girl. "It's good to see you again, Casey." John smiled. He loved this castle. Everyone was family here, whether they were related or not. Cameron and Tricia, Casey's parents, worked in the kitchen, and let Casey wander around the castle. She had quickly grown bored, and had asked to be the messenger, deliver letters and notes to people around the castle, as well as sorting the mail. She proved to be adept at it, and was never seen with her yellow dress and grey satchel slung around her shoulder.

She let go of Rufioh's leg, and turned to look up at John, pulling a letter from her bag, slightly dampened from the rain. She handed it to him. "I was told to bring this directly to the King. I figured that meant you, even if you haven't been officially crowned yet." Despite the moistness, the seal on the paper still glistened brightly. A bright yellow sun gleamed on it. Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Rufioh frown slightly. He broke it open, and began to read it aloud.

* * *

To the new King of Castle Harlequin,

If I may introduce myself briefly, my name is Rose Lalonde, Queen of the Haj'Raki clan, hailing from the Gilded Sands. I assume that considering your mainly isolationist foreign policy, you know very little about myself or my people. In due time, you shall come to know more about us.

The purpose of this letter is to formally extend the hand of diplomacy to you. While you may not have been part of the wars between Houses and other such groups, I'm sure that you have heard about the fighting from House Zahhak, your allies, as they have been fighting off invaders quite successfully for some time now.

* * *

John looked up at Rufioh, confused. "Invaders? Attacking the Caves?"

He nodded grimly. "Your father didn't want anyone to worry about it. There has never been any need to be concerned. However, you should keep it in mind." John was at a total loss for words. Unable to respond, he continued reading. Casey hugged his leg, looking terrified.

I believe that it is time for these pointless conflicts to end. I invite you to join my people, as well as representatives from the other Kingdoms of Andros, in the Capital at the first meeting of the Andros High Council. I have full confidence that you will find your way there.

-Rose Lalonde

* * *

Rufioh clenched his jaw. "The Haj'Raki clan should not be trusted, John. They are known to be deceitful for their own personal profit." He looked away for a moment. "I have had dealings with high-ranking members of the tribe. They are a corrupted people." He took the letter from John and scanned it quickly. And even if that weren't the case, what they are proposing is absolutely insane. There hasn't been such a council for hundreds of years."

John looked around the room, wondering if anyone had heard the conversation. It didn't appear so, but that didn't change the fact that the current atmosphere didn't offer the best conditions. "Perhaps we should step outside for a moment." Rufioh nodded and the two of them made their way through the Grand Hall, into the main entrance, and walked underneath a large iron gate. Casey tagged along quietly, as she was known to, sticking close to John. He put a hand on her shoulder and asked Rufioh, "So, what should we do?"

The tan adviser took off his cloak, his bronze wings unfurling as they shimmered like glass. His broad shoulders and toned arms flexed as he handed it to Casey, walking into the rain. "Whether this is a deception or not, we should have our voice represented at this meeting. Gather together the most able-bodied men from all across the Windswept Peaks, appoint someone to take command while you are away and tell Tavros to pack his bags." He turned to face John, his eyes filled with an emotion that could only be described as determination. "I have some matters to tend to, but I will return soon. When I do, he and I will journey down to the Caves and meet with Equius, requesting him to accompany us to the Capital." He bowed his head respectfully. "Stay safe, my liege." He sprinted forward a few steps before leaping into the air and floating away on the wind.

The cold rain soaked John as he stood and looked out upon the mountains. He didn't know how long it had been, but eventually he felt a tug on his pants. He looked down to see Casey staring up at him. Her lip trembled and she looked as if she was about to cry. John smiled at her and picked her up. "You're scared, aren't you?" She nodded. "I am too. But we're members of the Royal Family, Casey. And even when we're scared, we have to put on a brave face and keep on going. Can you do that for me?" She wiped her eyes, and nodded again.

John hugged her, holding her close to him as he walked into the Grand Hall.


	2. Chapter 2: The Path to the High Council

Dirk sighed quietly as he trudged along the old and beaten path, his sword bumping up against his leg with each step. He was tired and every part of him screamed to stop for the day and pick up their journey tomorrow. They had been walking for four days now with very short breaks at night, so as to keep up a fast pace. Despite his own desires, he had to make it to the Capital for the good of the people that he led.

The wars of Andros had mostly avoided the Ayatsuri clan. Their village, despite its relatively large size, was very well-hidden and no one with hostile intent had been able to find it on their own in the entire time since Dirk had built his home almost a decade before. The woods themselves were absolutely massive, as well as vastly uncivilized; on maps they simply appeared as The Forest. It was incredibly hard to navigate not only due to the lack of direction, but also due to the traps that had been lain later on and the physical skill of the inhabitants of the area. The forest held unknown creatures and powers. To survive, one had to be watchful and quick. Needless to say, it was very difficult to defeat a native and even more difficult to sneak up on one.

Because of these factors among others, those willing to serve under Dirk and live in his hierarchy were a modest number, numbering only around a thousand. While near everyone in the forest respected the foreigner's strength and agility, they were not willing to give up their freedom and join him. Thus, his men were very strong but were small in number against the other warring factions. As such, they had never bothered creating an offensive strategy in the battles; most had never left the Forest. Dirk was leading them into an entirely unknown world. And potentially into the full-blown battles they had been avoiding for so many years.

Of course, it wasn't a world that he was particularly interested in reentering. He had entered the forest in order to escape the type of society that had been created be he and his kin. Besides that, he hadn't been given much of a choice after he was exiled. He could still recall the events leading up to it as if they had only happened yesterday. The condescending smirk that Rose gave him as shadows around them flickered, the rage in his brother's eyes as their swords met, even the sad undertones in Brother Sawtooth's voice as he handed them both the ceremonial eyewear.

He pulled off his pair and stared at them, long and hard. It was impossible to forget about them; they were always weighing down on his nose, and darkening his vision. But that was its purpose, he supposed. To remind someone of their crimes and Dirk had committed one of the worst: raising a sword against his family. Even so, he had been incredibly angry about the punishment and before he left, he had melted down the quartz and reformed it so that the eyewear consisted of sharp points rather than rounded edges, in a final act of rebellion. Dave had simply stared at him for a few moments upon seeing what his brother had created, before walking away.

"Dirk? Are you alright?" A high-pitched voice cut through his thoughts and he snapped back to reality. Nepeta walked beside him, her hazel eyes wide as saucers. She was a good foot below him in height with chopped brown hair, tan skin, and usual garb of black garments with a long olive jacket made her difficult to spot in the forest. But they were no longer in a forest. That thought concerned Dirk as well, whether his people would be able to survive in full-frontal combat if it come to that.

"Dirk!" He focused into attention once more. It was a bad quality of his to get lost in thought. He assumed it was that way for most royalty, as it had been with his brother. He turned his gaze to the young girl. She must have been somewhere around 19 years, making Dirk about a decade older than her. Time had an odd way of slipping by for the Striders.

"What is it?" His mind was drifting in a dozen different directions, simultaneously in both the past and the future, but he forced himself to stay in the present.

Her eyes had grown a little bit less wide, but no less worried, he noticed. She was quite intelligent and was able to relate to everyone in the village on some level, making her an excellent advisor. But, she was far out of her element. Still, she kept relatively calm as she asked "What are we going to do when we reach the Capital?"

He had to consider the question for a moment. His hand went to the pocket of his almost skintight maroon clothing, looking for the letter that he had been given only a week earlier. But it wasn't there. He checked his other pocket, panic starting to rise in his chest, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a wild mane of hair and a smiling face. Meulin smiled at him and handed him the letter.

Nepeta and Meulin weren't actually sisters, but they were close enough that they regarded themselves as such. Iit was a custom respected by every member of the region that their offspring, upon reaching a mature age, would go out into the Forest without any worldly belongings and only return when they had become strong and mature. Towards the ends of their journeys, the two met and wandered the Forest together, until they came across Dirk.

He had honored the tradition as well, throwing away everything that he owned except for his shades, and entered the Forest naked and defenseless. After wandering for four days, starving and tired, he came across a gleaming weapon which natives called a katana. The sword was a legendary weapon of sorts and was said to be nigh indestructible, which Dirk was inclined to believe. In the years he had used it, not once had it chipped or scratched. When Meulin and Nepeta saw him, they instantly began to follow him, becoming the first members of the society that he created.

As such, Dirk was inclined to rely on them, but he could never quite shake the feeling that there was something not quite right about Meulin. He couldn't place a finger on it, but she disturbed him deeply at times. And that was when she wasn't using her powers. Most of the time, he shrugged it off, but sometimes it tended to bother him. As she stood before him, he couldn't help but feel that she was smiling a little too widely, as if she were silently mocking him. But her eyes seemed genuine, as if she was just a bit excited. He nodded a thank you to her and she responded with a few quick hand gestures, before skipping off and humming quietly.

Nepeta quietly coughed, still waiting for his answer. He unfolded the paper, and reread the words on it.

* * *

To the Prince of the Forest,

I assume that introductions are unnecessary between the two of us, Dirk. It has been quite a while since we last spoke, but I hope that I was able to make an impression on you before we went our separate ways. I see that we have both made our ways in the world, although in entirely opposite directions. I look forward to seeing the Forest one day, and I'm sure you will enjoy the Gilded Sands.

However, both of those visitations will have to be put on hold. This letter is an invitation not to either of our homes, but to a meeting between the Kingdoms of Andros. If these ongoing wars had any victor, or even one nation that seemed to preside in power over others, I would be more than willing to let them run their course. However, these conflicts have been occurring for years, with no intention of halting.

My proposal is simple. The highest leaders of our realm will convene in the Capital, in order to find common ground between us all, and put an end to meaningless warfare. There is no requirement to respond to this letter. We shall see each other quite soon.

-Rose Lalonde

* * *

He sighed again. "There's a lot of things about this letter that make me… apprehensive. Rose is a dangerous individual. She has a lot of strength at her beck and call, and that was before she became leader of the Haj'Raki, which is another thing that disturbs me."

Nepeta looked concerned, but curious all the same. Her eyes stayed on him, even as his own began to wander behind the dark quartz. When he didn't elaborate on his statement, she questioned him, as he knew she inevitably would. "What worries you so much about her?"

Though there were a great deal of answers to that question, he chose only to say "Her role in the Gilded Sands, and how she was able to obtain it. She put the ruling class below her and quickly assumed total control of the clan, the first leader of such capacity in their people's history. She's intelligent, treacherous, and powerful. It isn't a good mix."

At some point, Nepeta cocked her head to the side slightly. She waited patiently for him to finish speaking before interjecting. "I've never heard any of this about her, and neither has anyone else in the village." He didn't doubt her, considering how quickly she was able to move, as well as her ease at striking up conversation. Besides that, he doubted that there were any in the Forest that could speak with any authority on her. "Dirk? Do you… Do you know her from somewhere?"

Before he had a chance to respond, he heard a low growl somewhere to his left. He turned, moving his hand to the grip of his katana as he did so. The first thing he noticed was the piercing yellow glow of feral, hungry eyes. A wolf stepped towards him, its dark grey fur verging on black. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nepeta hunch down, preparing herself for battle. What she wasn't doing was looking behind her, where another wolf was silently padding towards her.

As he barked out a warning to her, he saw the beast in front of him lunge forward, snarling. His hand jerked upwards, and his sword clashed against its teeth, just barely holding it back. Seeing the wolf close, he saw that his observation on its eyes hadn't been entirely accurate. Behind the yellow, he could just barely see flashes of other colors, appearing for only fractions of a second.

He pushed the wolf backwards, slicing through its jaw. It howled in pain, and fell back onto the ground. He plunged his sword through its neck, and sliced upwards, lopping the head half off. Dark red blood poured out of the gash, and the wolf twitched slightly as the light left its eyes. Dirk pulled his sword back up, scanning the area around him and readying for another attack when he noticed something. In the short fight, his katana had been scratched.

He quickly remembered that a battle was not the time and place to be questioning the validity of myths, and turned to face the other threat. Another dead wolf lay on the ground, and above it was a sleek, black panther. Blood dripped from its fangs as it turned to face Dirk. He gave it a silent nod, and looked back up. A pack of wolves was quickly approaching the caravan, around fifty of them. Around him, other villagers were unsheathing their own weapons, and readying themselves to kill the creatures.

As Dirk prepared himself for the oncoming attack, the panther leapt forward, pouncing on a wolf and quickly tearing it to shreds. He ignored the sight and held his sword forward in a defensive stance. When the next beast attacked him, he was ready. His katana plunged through the wolf's chest. It didn't even have the chance to make a sound, simply shuddering and dying. Using a foot, he pushed it off of the sword, and made his way into the fray.

His weapon was a blur, hacking and slashing at anything within his reach. He decapitated a wolf, and within just a few seconds had crippled another, his sword coated with crimson. After a few minutes, the pack lay around him, all dead. He could see his clansmen putting away their weapons, and either kicking away the wolf carcasses or inspecting them.

The panther padded up next to him before starting to convulse. He closed his eyes, but he still saw the bright flash. When he opened them again, Nepeta stood next to him once more, just as she had been before the battle. She looked up at him, smiling. "Did I do good this time, Dirk?"

He nodded back at her. "Yeah, you did. But you might not want to shapeshift so often when we reach places where there might be people. They won't react kindly." While magic was generally looked upon kindly by the people of Andros, he had a feeling that the changing of physical form would not be.

She grinned back at him "Don't worry! I've been practicing with my claws!" She opened up her jacket and showed him two gloves, each on with three long metallic claws on it. Before he could respond to her, she bounded off to join Meulin. When he glanced at her, she met his gaze, and grinned widely at him, her eyes faintly glowing. This was slightly more disconcerting due to the blood spattered on her clothing and the dead wolves lying around her. He quickly looked away.

His attention shifted back to the creatures lying near him. He had never seen a wolf quite so massive, nor one with the same eyes. They all seemed to be unnatural. But, as usual, there wasn't quite as much time to assess the situation as he would have liked. Despite their interruption, he had to keep up the pace if he wanted to get to the Capital in time. Not that he looked forward to it.

He started to walk down the old path once more. If this was just the journey, he wasn't looking forward to seeing his final destination.


	3. Chapter 3: The History of Andros

There were days that Aranea missed the Gilded Sands. Admittedly, the heat was near unbearable considering her family's pale skin and dark hair, but some choice clothing could make it a bit less uncomfortable. Not to mention that she tended to spend most of her time inside. While many members of the Haj'Raki roamed the desert freely, there were still a few permanent residences, the luxurious palace of the noble Serket family being one of them.

While the palace itself was beautiful, with its mixture of dazzlingly white marble and old tan sandstone, and the decorations from hundreds of years of art and sculpture, it wasn't what Aranea desired. In truth, the Capital was more magnificent than her home had ever been, especially as its ruins had been restored to their glorious original state. No, what she missed was her books. Over time, manuscripts and stories from across the lands had been gathered by the Haj'Raki nobility. The Capital's library was… lacking.

It was understandable of course, Aranea told herself. After all, with an entire city to rebuild, who had time to create an adequate library? Surely not the workers assigned to such a project, mainly tanned warriors and smiths who occupied their time gambling and lounging about rather than taking a few hours of their time to gather reading materials. At one point, they had all respected the Serkets. But those days were past, Aranea reminded herself. The once-royal family were closer to glorified servants with their new ruler.

As such, the shelves of the library were sparse, with only a small few filled completely. After spending only a month in the old city, Aranea had managed to read them all. While they were quite interesting, detailing the history of the various kingdoms of Andros, they were no longer able to hold the young woman's attention. While the material was sure to be useful once she met the inhabitants of these lands, at the current time they served merely as time-wasters and not very good ones at that.

Nevertheless, she had time to waste. She'd never quite fit in with the rest of her family, who were proud warriors for the most part. While she and a few other cousins were intellectuals or academics, the most diplomatic of solutions that most Serkets were capable of was simply pressing their curved blades to their enemy's throats and not exerting the pressure to decapitate them. As such, those who preferred not to solve their problems with execution tended to keep themselves separated from their rather estranged family.

Due to this, Aranea had never gotten a chance to meet any commoners of the Gilded Sands. She had neither impressed them with her kindness and generosity, nor with power and violence. She remained merely a face in the procession when her family saw fit to showcase their wealth, to a mixed reaction of adoration and hatred. She supposed that in such an environment, maintaining your rank required violence, as there was always a usurper lurking in the shadows.

Of course, she couldn't think of a single person who would feel the need to usurp her power, seeing as she had very little. Granted, her voice was exponentially more influential after Rose Lalonde's ascent to the throne. But she still served as nothing but a bookkeeper and not a very useful one at that. It was said that the queen had a personal collection that was larger than the royal Serket library five times over.

Aranea examined the shelves for a moment, before picking up a book and idly flipping through its pages. There was little that the History of Andros had left to offer, despite its impressive thickness. However, she vaguely recalled that one section of the hefty tome had intrigued her. It spoke about the last meeting of the High Council and Aranea had decided in her mind that she would return to the passage when she was less distracted by obnoxious visitors to her library. It wasn't as if they wanted to speak to her, they were merely there to garner amusement for themselves off of her annoyance. Her irritation over the intruders almost caused her to miss the book she was looking for. Once she had more concentration, she flipped it open and began to read.

* * *

"The first meeting of the Andros High Council seemed to indicate quite profitable results, creating a peaceful assembly of the most powerful leaders of the land. Treaties were negotiated and to the public eye, it was a massive step towards a brighter future. Behind closed doors however, the meetings were an entirely different matter. If anything, the meetings only served to weaken diplomatic relations. What had previously only been minor squabbles evolved into full-blown wars between kingdoms. While no single factor can be pinpointed, it is evident that the entire situation could have been avoided, had it not been for the work of so, this is where you've been hiding?"

* * *

She blinked a few times before realizing that the last few words hadn't been read, but heard. She set aside the book and turned to face the voice. Her cousin had a smug grin on her face, her arms folded across her slender frame. Vriska had once been tall and lanky, but had quickly grown into it, becoming a stunning woman. Her cobalt eyes remained sharp and dangerous however. While some might say that Aranea had a quiet beauty, Vriska had an air of danger that made up for any of her imperfections.

Aranea put on what she hoped was a blank face, betraying no emotion, especially not her anger – or fear. In an even tone, she met Vriska's predatory gaze and spoke as calmly as she could. "May I assist you with something?"

Her cousin gave a short laugh, a melodiously mocking sound. "I always thought that my elders in the family would be more intimidating. That is, until I met you." She smirked as she lightly paced forward, snatching away Aranea's book before she could protest, and flipping it shut to see the cover. "Tsk. When are you going to learn to live in the real world?"

Aranea resisted the urge to grab for the book, knowing full well that she would be unable to take it from Vriska. It would only give her more reason to continue her taunts. Sadly, she had spent more than enough time with her tormentor to know just how she thought. Instead, she settled for a retort. "Perhaps this history is still applicable to our current situations. If you'd done any sort of reading, you might not repeat the mistakes of our forefathers, as you have done numerous times in the name of the Haj'Raki people."

Almost immediately, she regretted what she had said, as she saw the flash of anger in Vriska's eyes. This wasn't going to end well, probably worse than usual. Aranea could feel the bruises on her back pulse slightly with pain from her encounter with her cousin two days prior. Any hopes of walking away unscathed were interrupted by the sudden edge in Vriska's voice. "I don't need to bury my face in a book to understand the only history that matters. I've read all the stories about our ancestors. Don't suppose you've read about them, though." She leered at Aranea, dropping the book on a nearby table haphazardly. She moved towards Aranea, causing the shorter girl to back away cautiously. "If you did, you'd remember that they were warriors and not disgraces like you. After all these years, I'd bet you still don't know the first thing about combat, do you?"

Her family had given up on her long ago, even before Lalonde's arrival. Aranea had been left to her own devices beginning in her teenage years. She shook her head, hoping that Vriska was satisfied. But as a grin spread across her tormentor's features, Aranea admitted to herself that it was a fleeting hope at best. "No, I remember. When we were kids, they made you try, didn't they?" When Aranea didn't respond, the smile evaporated, and the razor sharp edge returned to her voice. "Didn't they?" Aranea managed a weak nod.

"So, let's see what you remember." Vriska took a step back and her cocky smirk returned. "Attack me." Aranea was only able to widen her eyes in response. Attack Vriska? Not if she wanted to survive the night. She must have let her panic show, as Vriska began to laugh. "Well, what are you waiting for? I won't bite. Or are you too much of a coward?"

If she had to pinpoint what it was that caused her to lash out at Vriska so quickly and swing at her, for once in her life Aranea wouldn't have an answer. Perhaps her family spirit had awoken, the supposed ferocity of every Serket. Or perhaps she was just tired of being walked on by Vriska and the like. Whatever the case, her sudden rush of anger was ended as quickly as it had started. Vriska had years of experience and she easily blocked the attack, locking Aranea's wrist in a vice-like grip.

With a triumphant smile, Vriska bared her teeth and lifted Aranea's wrist upward, forcing her to move closer in order to keep her balance. "You see this? This is why I'm better than you. Why I'll always be better than you. You're spineless." Once more, Aranea was speechless. As Vriska spun her around and twisted her arm behind her back, she cried out in pain and a dim thought ran through her mind. 'She wants to hear me suffer.'

Suddenly, a clear voice rang out through the silence of the library. "I do hope that I'm not intruding upon a family matter when I ask what exactly is occurring."

Vriska gasped sharply and let Aranea's arm fall limply to her side. She shook it slightly and discovered to her surprise that everything seemed to be functioning properly. When she looked up, Vriska was at her side and the queen was only a few steps away. "Combat training." Though Vriska's face was emotionless, her tone was clipped and held a slight tremor in it. At that moment, Aranea realized something and cursed herself for never noticing all those times she had seen Vriska and the queen interact. Vriska was still afraid of her.

Rose Lalonde had a statuesque figure. Her skin was barely a shade darker than Aranea's. If not for her dark blonde hair, she might have passed as part of the upper class in the Gilded Sands. But she was no Serket. Her eyes held a cold and calculating intelligence, a gaze that seemed to understand one's entire being with but a single glance. "I hadn't realized that Aranea was interested in learning the way of the sword." Despite the warmth of summer in the room, the queen's voice seemed to freeze the room over. "If you feel the need to practice your skill set, I suggest you find a sparring partner elsewhere." Her tone made it abundantly evident that it was not a suggestion.

Vriska gave a slight nod and made her way to the door. When she was out of the queen's sight, she shot Aranea a glare. Aranea pretended that she didn't notice. Once the door closed, the blonde's face brightened, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Ah, the wonders of family. They do tend to hold you back, don't they?" Without explaining or waiting for a response, she began to pace lightly around the library, examining the shelves. "While many among us may be unappreciative of your work, I am simply enamored by what you've done."

Aranea had to smile, not out of obligation or fear, but because for once, her work was being noticed and praised. "Thank you. I am surprised that you made it up here, however." After a moment, she realized what she had said and stammered out "N-not because you're unintelligent, but I assumed that you were too busy, my Queen."

She laughed genuinely, a sharp contrast from the amusement Vriska had shown. "You may call me Rose. And I am never too busy for a good book – or a pretty librarian." She glanced at Aranea, still smiling, and turned back to the book shelves. "Older editions, hmm? I don't suppose my name is in any of these yet."

The blood rushed to her cheeks, and Aranea quickly replied "No, but I'm sure you will be soon." Of course, her nervous wording only served to darken her blush.

To her surprise and slight discomfort, Rose moved away from the books and towards Aranea. "Is that so? Well, I'd need a good author. Perhaps you might write the next history book. Of course, if you wanted to do me justice, you'd have to get to know me on a much more intimate basis." Her hand brushed lightly against Aranea's, just enough to show that the motion was intentional.

Aranea laughed nervously, but didn't move away. "If you don't mind my asking my Qu- Rose, is there something that you came up here for?" She looked down at the ground, not wanting to show how embarrassed she felt. She hadn't expected that Rose would be interested in her or any females for that matter. There had been rumors of course, but she'd never dared to believed them. Though she had thought often about the possibilities.

Rose merely shrugged off the question. "Nothing of great importance. I was in my study making preparations for the arrivals, when I heard Vriska giving you trouble and I came to lend a hand." She moved almost imperceptibly closer to Aranea.

At that moment however, all thoughts had disappeared for Aranea with the exception of one. "I thought that your study was on the other side of the castle?" How could that be, though? Rose had no reason to lie, but it was impossible to hear something from such a long distance, wasn't it?

Just as Rose was about to answer however, the sound of wood against stone filled the air. Vriska burst into the room, leaving the door wide open. She spared only a moment to look oddly at Rose and Aranea's proximity, before turning her full attention to the queen. "I have important news."

Rose arched an eyebrow. "Really? And just how pressing is this news that you see fit to interrupt me in a private counsel with my advisor?" Both Serkets in the room blinked at the word advisor. As far as anyone in the Capital had known up until that point, the only advisor to the queen was Vriska, and that was only in combat situations.

Vriska shook her head to clear her thoughts, and seemed to struggle to find words, before she simply said "It's easier to show you." She moved to a nearby window, and pointed out of it. Rose followed her at a relatively leisurely pace, and Aranea stayed close to her. As she peered out the window, all she saw was a purple banner, but Rose evidently saw more, as all warmth evaporated from her face.

"No, that can't be them. They have no way of knowing about my plans. There is no reason they should be here." Her voice was laced with a venomous anger and both of the Serkets instinctually took a step back, not wanting the queens' wrath directed at them.

"Well, that is the mark of the Mirthful Messiahs, right?" Vriska glanced at Aranea as she asked the question. It took a moment for her to realize that Vriska was actually asking for help. Aranea swallowed, and shook her head, indicating that she had no idea. She'd never read or even heard about the Mirthful Messiahs. Vriska's expression was just as mystifying. Was that… panic? Aranea with a growing sense of fear as two of the most powerful women she'd ever met were being shaken to their core by just the sight of these strangers.

Rose snapped her head around and faced the two. "You will find more information for me on their arrival. No matter what the cost to you, it is imperative to my success that I know how to deal with them. Is that clear?" The Serkets nodded and avoided Rose's steely glare. "Good. I must return to my study. No one is to interrupt me." Once again, they nodded and Rose strode out of the room, slamming the great wooden doors behind her.

It wasn't until the echoes had cleared out of the room that Vriska spoke up. "So... What do you know about them. Anything?" She answered with silence. "Great. Well, get studying." And with that, she scanned the shelves and withdrew a book, flipping through it.

It took Aranea a moment to comprehend what was happening. "Er... Vriska? What are you doing?"

The younger Serket didn't even bother looking up to answer. "I just said. Studying."

Aranea paused again. "I thought that you hated reading."

Vriska slammed the book down onto a table and moved forward until she was mere inches away from her cousin's face. "Yeah, well I make an exception when my life is on the line. Under any other circumstance, I would break a couple of your bones for saying something like that. But I have bigger concerns and you might actually be helpful. So, grab a book and make yourself useful for once in your pitiful fucking existence."

As usual, Aranea did what she was told and began to read.


	4. Chapter 4: Visions

"HEY! OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!"

Kankri blinked a few times as he was startled out of his trancelike state. He'd been walking along with the rest of the tribe. No, they were his family. He had to remind himself of that. 'They are not just people, they are your family. Don't let yourself forget that,' he thought to himself. 'They took you in and made you one of their own despite your differences. Do not insult them as anything lower. The Rakta tribe does not forgive easily. Family never does.'

Undoubtedly, he wasn't the only one in the caravan who felt the same, that they would pass out from exhaustion if they were forced to move any further. But such was the way of the warrior. Most other groups in Andros rode on horseback or in carriages; only the most celebrated of warriors did so among the Rakta and they all rode with no sattle. The only other group that travelled in a similar manner was the Ayatsuri Clan, which was only due to their overall unwillingness to harness animals for work purposes. Their relationship with the other inhabitants of the forest was unique, due to the symbiotic nature... No, his mind was wandering again. If he focused on the here and now, Kankri knew he could stay awake for longer.

Their tribe had been walking for a little over two weeks from their home at the base of the Stroka Mountains, though mountain wasn't the best descriptor. It was excused since they had been named before it was known that the mountains were in fact dormant volcanoes. That was when the majority of the first group of settlers died. Much like their northern counterparts, the Windswept Peaks, the mountains in the South of Andros were considered inhospitable by the majority of people. Rakta lore said that only the strongest could withstand the intensity of the now active volcanoes. Common Andros lore reported the Stroka Mountains were settled by savages and bloodthirsty murderers.

No matter what the history books said, the people that emerged from the struggle to survive were hardened warriors. Homes, or rather simple tin huts, were built on high ground and trenches were dug so that lava flow was diverted downwards. If Rakta legends were true, which they may or may not be judging by the small amount of literacy in the group, the innovation had saved the villages from bloody conflict with raiders on a number of occasions.

It had been eighteen days now since the letter had arrived. Fifteen days since they mobilized the tribe, leaving only those who needed to tend the village. Two days since he'd slept. No, that wasn't important. They were less than a day's walk from the Capitol now. He could make it. He had to make it. He had to prove that he wasn't a worthless straggler. Though no one would publicly shame him, Kankri knew how they all looked down on him. Even his own brother, the chieftain didn't favor him. All due to his "destiny" foretold by some ancient crone.

"Having some trouble?" Kankri looked up to see Karkat riding on his horse alongside him. He was young, just sixteen years old, but his frame was muscular and complimented by the simple leather and bone outfit that he wore. The chieftain smiled lightly at him. "You never were very strong. It's honestly sort of impressive that you made it this far."

Karkat had to be the youngest chieftain in recorded history. If the Rakta tribe had any recorded history, that is. Leaders were chosen by combat and Karkat's twin sickles had shredded his opponents to barely recognizable piles of flesh. The scars crisscrossing his dark chest attested to the struggle, one that Karkat had walked away from with blood drenching his skin in a sticky red. Kankri's own skin was a shade lighter than his chieftain's, most likely due to his separation and his dubious genealogy. Kankri reminded himself once more how lucky he was to be part of the tribe. Better that than slaughtered and rotting somewhere.

"I'd get farther if I had a horse." Kankri forced a smile as he struggled to keep pace with Karkat's stallion. He must still show his respect. Kankri never doubted the reason he was in the tribe. He was there to document and to explain necessary pieces of information on the outside world. Karkat had decided that the tribe would be involved with the rest of Andros once more. As far as local talk went, Karkat was the most revolutionary of chieftains that had come to power for generations. His fearsome anger and savage violence won him leadership, but it was his desire to strive towards new borders, his promise of an age of conquest for the tribe that kept his power unchallenged. It was also probably the only reason that Kankri was still alive.

The young warrior smiled in his own cocky fashion. "Sorry, brother. You know how it is. You have to earn your horse in combat and... Well." Neither one of them needed him to explain further. Karkat shrugged. "Can't change tradition." Of course, Kankri knew that already. It was what he'd been told to everyone who had spoken with him on the subject, usually with stifled laughter or sneers. He had to wonder to himself, if there was anyone who could honestly understand his situation, being a scholar among warriors.

That was when the vision began.

At first, it was just a slight tingle and some confusion as to why the edges of his vision had blurred. And then he began to consider why a smoking figure shrouded in rags and darkness rode a stallion of bones beside him, where Karkat had been just moments ago. It all hit him at once. Kankri screamed as a splitting pain seared his skull and he fell to his knees. The shrouded man noticed, and his hand pointed to Kankri's falling body, but he was no longer there. Now he was soaring through the sky in a body made of air.

He flew high above the clouds, where large spires of marble and pearl rose above the grassy plains. He looked over his shoulders and saw, to his amazement, that there was a set of nearly translucent wings. Then he was gone once more.

He was in a great city now, in a room of scrolls and books. A tall and lithe blonde woman in a violet dress stood and spoke with a shorter and dark-haired woman donned in an unflattering and simple brown robe. As he floated down to join them, he was suddenly repelled by an unseen force. The dark-haired one was looking away, but the blonde looked up directly and gave a peculiar stare, as if she didn't quite understand what she saw. Her eyes narrowed, and he felt himself being blown away, far away on a cold wind.

He was standing in the midst of a snowstorm and his sister was calling to him in the distance. The ice and snow whipped at his face, but he was not cold. He saw nothing and yet he saw everything simultaneously, all haze and blur. There was panic in the voice he heard and the soft thud of quick footfalls behind. It didn't matter. They had both been deemed unworthy; their last hope of salvation was gone.

It was cold in the cave that he stood in. Dark, save for the red and blue eyes of the wolf pack around him and the power crackling in his fingers. He stared at his brother and his brother stared at him. He was staring at himself, it seemed. They were one and two at once and they knew things so dark that he knew if he allowed himself to see them, it would be at the cost of his sanity. The two selves strode forward and he knew that he could not stay in this place, that he didn't want to see what would come next.

His eyes opened and a blonde man in shining armor and a red cape was walking in front of him. Massive gears turned as the gate lowered and the man's comrades followed him out of their castle as they began their journey. A young woman and an old hag walked behind him. She laughed in her mind, or was it his mind? He had so much to see, she told him. So very much to see, but so little time to see it all. And then he did.

He saw pale white become dark and then black. He saw the darkness melting under a fire so hot that it could scorch empires. He saw that which was unbreakable shatter against an unspeakable and unstoppable power. He saw the rise and fall of an empire. He saw a throne room coated with blood and a clash of once beautiful colors become a myriad of pain and death at the center of the world. And then he saw nothing.

When Kankri awoke, it was dark outside, yet he couldn't see the stars. It was with a sudden jolt that he realized that he was actually inside one of the tents that the Rakta tribe had built, made of hardened leather. As with horses, these portable structures were built and reserved for warriors, as well as their wives and their children. All who did not fall under that category were required to sleep outside. Kankri had never even been in one of the tents before.

He sat up slowly and cautiously, hoping not to arouse the anger of anyone who might be nearby. The tent was remarkably bare, save for small paintings drawn into the side. Strangely enough, there seemed to be small red dots covering the inner walls. Just as he began to inspect closer, he heard a rustle to his side and saw that the door was opening.

His first instinct was panic, but that quelled to relief when he saw that it was Karkat who entered. And then he began to worry once more, fearing that he might have offended the tribe by going against tradition. But it wasn't his fault, was it? He couldn't help where he was moved when he was unconscious. At remembering his last moments of clarity while under the sun, he winced with pain from the splitting ache in his skull that made its presence known.

Karkat knelt down next to him, apparent concern across his face. "You alright, brother?" He put a hand on Kankri's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. It was the first time that Kankri had ever seen the chieftain sit on the ground for the sake of a tribe member.

"I'm fine… Brother." He added the last part cautiously, and seeing that Karkat had no real reaction to the term, he relaxed a little more. "What am I doing in here? I thought that tents were only for warriors." I

The young man grinned at that. "Yeah, they are. And you've earned your spot, and won me a bet on top of that." He motioned with his thumb back where he'd come. "Some stupid assholes bet me that you wouldn't make it the rest of the trip."

By that point, Kankri was immensely confused. "But I didn't make it all the way, did I?" There was a night of walking left, as best he could remember.

Karkat scowled. "Yeah, because they cheated. Dumb fucks were scared you'd make it all the way, so one of 'em slipped something in your food. It was supposed to take you out this morning."

Questions swam through Kankri's mind. Karkat had bet on him? He had bet for him to win, even. Did he actually believe in Kankri or even see him as strong? Kankri had always understood that he was not truly Kankri's "brother", that it was just a term that he used to describe his fellow tribesmen. Kankri technically qualified under that terminology. He had always gone under the impression that he was merely a tool unworthy of being a true member of the tribe. But, could it be that his assumption was incorrect? One question at a time. "I was poisoned?"

The chieftain's voice was dark and angry. "Yeah. It was supposed to kill you this morning." So much for the false assumption. Not that he truly believed he had been wrong. "Took a whole lot of strength to make it all the way to noon and survive."

Kankri blinked and looked up at his brother, and was met with a wide grin. "I told the tribe that you'd proven yourself in combat with that. So, you've got your own tent and horse."

"I thought there were no extra supplies?"

"Yeah." Karkat shrugged. "I killed the motherfucker who poisoned you. Hope you don't mind using his stuff."

"Of course not." What did bother Kankri how willing Karkat was to kill for him. He must have seen the concern written on the scholar's face, because Karkat immediately replied, "I'd do anything for you. You're my family."

Kankri let out a heavy sigh. "Karkat, my origins are still unknown. I know little to nothing of my past, save for a caravan I briefly traveled with at a young age and never learned a fact about. Furthermore-"

"But you're Rakta!" Karkat's fists were clenched as he stared down Kankri, who instinctually began to shrink away. The warrior saw this and took a deep breath before continuing. "Look, you're my brother. We have blood, don't deny that. And I say we're brothers, so we are. Got that?" Kankri nodded.

"Good." Karkat looked around nervously, as if afraid that someone else may overhear him, though they were alone. "There are some people saying that what happened was different. Unnatural." He looked tense and uncomfortable with the topic. "They say you saw things. Is that true?"

He had to think for a moment before responding. The wrong answer could potentially land him in a great deal of trouble. He spoke cautiously in his reply. "Yes." Karkat breathed in quietly, but sharply. "But, it was just a fever dream. A product of the sun's heat combined with the effects of the potion." He decided best to leave out specifics of the sights that he had seen for the time being. Leave them alone until he could decipher more. It seemed to be a good time to push all thoughts of the old crone out of his head.

Karkat just nodded. "Alright. You'll sleep in here tonight. You need rest, and I don't want to risk moving you."

Kankri raised an eyebrow. "And where will you be sleeping?"

"Oh, I won't be sleeping." Karkat was smiling his cocky smile once again, the one he wore when he was about to go to battle. "Gotta take care of the troublemakers. Forget about it and just go to sleep." And with that, he stood and walked outside of the tent, closing the door behind him.

He tried to do as his chieftain commanded. He cleared his mind, he thought of nothing and tried to fall asleep. But sleep did not come easy after what he had seen. And so he lay awake as the moon sat high above and a chorus of screams echoed up to the heavens from outside his tent.


End file.
